Fleeting
by sydneysages
Summary: All he wants is revenge for Penryn Young, to get to avenge her death. But, when he goes to Half Moon Bay, he realises: It was far easier to love Penryn Young, Daughter of Man, when he thought she was dead. /Raffryn, set in Angelfall and into World After.


Hi! I first read Angelfall et al many years ago, but I'm rereading them at the moment and _finally_ got inspiration to write something for this amazing series. It's set at the end of Angelfall in Raffe's POV, when Penryn falls, and goes into World After until he sees that she's alive.

I welcome all feedback and suggestions on things to write in the future; I adore this pairing, and am so glad I've finally been able to write something as a contribution.

*I haven't included all of the dialogue from the end of Angelfall scene, simply because I wanted to do slightly my own take on it*

* * *

When he turns and sees her falling, it's only then that he truly understands what his Watchers went through, all those thousands of years ago. It's as if the centre of his world, the gravity tethering him to this universe, has fallen from him, cataclysmically far, unreachably far. The emotions he'd been so reluctant to acknowledge even existed, let alone allow himself to consider even for a moment, burst through, and he can't stop himself.

It's not like the hellions can get her now, anyway, is it? She's…Penryn's dying, that much is clear. Her body's crumpling to the ground, in the slow-motion way that he seems to see _all_ of her movements, which only intensifies the agony coursing through his veins.

Before her body can hit the floor, he's moved hell and high water across the basement laboratory to cradle her head, guiding it gently onto his legs. His hand touches her cheek gently, and a jolt runs through him: it's like his hand was made perfectly to fit against her rosy cheek.

"You can't die on me," he whispers, growls almost, as he thinks of any way that he could possibly save her. He doesn't know what these things are, what they've done to her, but maybe he can do…what _can_ he do? No matter how hard he's thinking of ways to save her, his brain just won't work: all he can think is that he loves this girl, this Daughter of Man, and she's dying in his arms.

Human life is fleeting, he's recognised that over the millennia he's spent on Earth trying to hunt down the last of the Nephilim, and he always thought that one life didn't really make an impact. A few years after death, you're forgotten, unless you're one of the few that did something so wondrous or atrocious that the world continues to celebrate or vilify you, or a caricature of you. But ordinary humans; there's nothing special about them.

That's what he thought until he met this particular Daughter of Man.

As he tries to think of a way to save the uncontrollably captivating Penryn Young, his brain instead remains focused on every memory of the time that he's spent with this Daughter of Man over the past five days. Until his surgery, he can't remember being away from her for more than a few minutes, save for his capture at Obi's Resistance camp, and he thinks that he's seen every emotion flit across her face. In the World Before, as she phrases it, she'd never have been able to play poker; simply with regards to her sister, she couldn't disguise her feelings.

Let alone her changing feelings towards _him_.

Maybe it was her implicit recognition that all angels – let alone archangels – aren't bad that made him fall in love with her, he thinks. Maybe it was her extension of some form of cordiality, which became a symbiotic tether tying both of them to life, which made him fall from his lofty pedestal into the arms of the only Daughter of Man he could ever imagine being close to. He is totally, unequivocally, irrevocably in love with Penryn Young.

And now his heart is shattering, because he can't imagine life without her.

He knows that he can read all of these emotions, this cataclysm of hatred and love and obsession, in his eyes, and he hopes that this provides some comfort in her dying moments. That when he said, " _I don't even like you_ ," he was doing his best to protect the pair of them, for what future does an archangel have with a Daughter of Man? That he will do his utmost to avenge her death, damned the consequences for his own eternal life.

That, perhaps, dying won't be so bad for him if he knows that she's on the other side, wherever that may be.

She tries to speak, to raise her hand to his face, and he shushes her, telling her it's all going to be okay. It's a load of nonsense, something that he would never have imagined himself saying a week ago, but she makes him want to. He wants to comfort her, to make her think that she's going to be okay, even though he can't see a way that she's going to make it through this. But humans, even his tough-as-nails, vociferous, iridescent Daughter of Man, need to believe in the darkest of times, and he'll be damned if he doesn't make her feel relaxed.

And then, somehow, her head flops back and he knows, he just _knows_ , she's gone. He can't hear her heart beating, can't hear her breath. Even her skin has lost its rosy colouring, faded to a colourless pallor befitting a corpse.

"NO!" The word rips out of him, the tidal wave of emotion unleashing in a way that he can't ever remember it doing before.

He sets her down gently on the ground, aware of the intensity of the feelings inside of him, and unwilling to cause her further pain. The next moments are a mystery to him: one minute, he's staring down at the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, the next he's smashing everything in sight, emptying every drawer, trying to get control of the rage which is within him.

It doesn't work. But, for a second, it makes him feel better, to have an outlet for the uncontrollable anger and devastation in his soul.

Then it's over, and he's back standing over her body, unable and unwilling to leave her here. She needs to be with her family.

The family that, if she hadn't tried to help him, she would never have had to leave behind.

This time, the rage directs itself inwards, and he hates himself more than he ever thought possible. Sentencing his Watchers, he thought he could never have more self-loathing than at that moment, but apparently he can. All he wants is to disappear into nothingness, so that he can be with her, so that he can repent a hundred, a thousand times, and tell her how sorry he is.

Slowly, gently, carefully, he lifts Penryn into his arms, careful to keep his wings away from her. These devil wings, armed and dangerous, are what he deserves. He isn't deserving of the wings of an archangel, but instead an archdemon. For he has destroyed this girl's life, simply for the fact that he couldn't bear to let her go.

He walks outside, ignoring the death and fire and destruction that rages around him, his focus entirely on the girl in his arms. If he gets hit, he gets hit and he deserves it. If he doesn't, it's divine intervention, a sign that this is the first step he can take towards redemption by returning Penryn to her family.

As he takes each step, it takes gargantum effort, more than he ever thought possible, he tries to memorise her face. To recall every feature of her face, her body, and connect it with every memory he has of her, from smashing Boden's face in to the night that he curled in behind her and let himself imagine, just for a minute, that they could be together and be _happy_. That he could be more than just the avenging angel there to solve his Watchers' lapse of judgement.

But then he sets her down, cautious of getting too close to the Resistance, and turns away, scared that if he doesn't go now, he'll never go at all.

…

That first night without her is the strangest experience that he's had in a long time. He knows that he's had millions, if not billions, of nights without Penryn Young, and so the last five are the anomaly, but it doesn't feel that way. Without her breath, her steady heart beat reminding him that he isn't alone in the world, he feels a million miles away from everything and everyone.

Not for the first time, he ruefully questions whether, perhaps, his Watchers were right in their affixation with Daughters of Men.

He's struggling to get used to these demon wings, but it would be unwise to remain in San Francisco this evening. Sleep is needed, if only to heal from the latest of the surgeries, and he doesn't know how to find somewhere safe. It's been Penryn's job, most of the time, and without her, he doesn't think that he can clear his mind.

Almost without realising it, he glides down to the ground in the neighbourhood where they first met. Strange, to think that that was only five days ago, he thinks with a sigh. This is a dangerous, stupid idea, but he needs to rest and he wants to be close to her. Even if he can't really be close to her, that is.

Using his sense of smell, he tracks where her scent is strongest, though the rain has caused even that to fade slightly. It takes him to a dirty-looking building with broken windows on the first two floors, and piles of rubbish forming on the grass outside. Looking up, he decides that the windows aren't covered, they just have no light emanating from them; it justifies, in his mind, that he can do this. That, for one night, he can mourn Penryn Young, and pretend that he knows her better than he actually does.

He creeps into the home that is clearly the home of the Youngs; if he had any doubts about his sense of smell, the constant smell of rotten eggs would convince him wholly. Though tired, he forces himself to look around the full apartment, wary of any hidden dangers, but he finds none.

Instead, he finds the Young history. Sees the host of medals and awards which explain Penryn's incomparable ability to fight. Sees the hidden medical bills stuffed away behind a set of drawers for Paige's injury and the upkeep of her wheelchair. Sees, for the first time, why Penryn feels like such an old soul, understands the responsibility on her shoulders for both herself, and her entire family.

Ignoring any doubts in his mind, he crawls into what he assumes is Penryn's bed, smelling her pillow and feeling for a moment like he's at home. A home that has no murder or rules or forbidden love, but instead is welcoming and just to all.

Tears fall down his face as Raffe tries to make himself fall asleep, as he mourns the memory of the girl with dark hair, darker eyes, and a soul with a kaleidoscope of colours.

…

He heals faster than he thought he would, and he hates himself bitterly for it, wishing that he could have given his healing power to Penryn.

The only way that he can think of to try and avenge her death is to enact his mandate as the Wrath of God against Beliel, Uriel and all of the other angels whose actions took Penryn from this planet called Earth. So he forms a battle plan, conscious of even his use of the language which he shared with her, and forces himself to put Penryn to the back of his mind. It's difficult, given he's still using her family home as his hideout, but he opens a vault in the back of his mind and throws her in there. Perhaps, if he makes it through the month, he'll open the door again and remember what it was like to love.

But, for now, the world needs Raphael the solider, the Commander of God's force of angels, and he needs his wings back. Well, he needs to enact revenge, not in the name of Gabriel or God or any of the other reasons they usually declare angelic war.

In the name of Penryn Young.

…

Three days later, and he's ready to attack Beliel at the new aerie, in Half Moon Bay. He's recovered enough from his surgeries and injuries that he knows he can destroy any of his enemies, and he's practiced locking Penryn in the back of his mind enough times that he thinks he can remain focused on the mission at hand.

As he arrives, he gets the same feeling of distaste as he had at the original aerie in San Francisco, the same contempt for the angel way of life that he hadn't realised he had until he took a Daughter of Man with him. _Damnit_ , he thinks, he can't let himself think of her, not now.

But, with careful observance, he realises that he's right to think the way he does. Centuries away from the world of the angels, hunting Nephilim and waiting for a reason to stop punishing himself, has caused him to see with fresh eyes the decadence and unnecessary arrogance which comes with all that is angelic. He'd rather live on the fringes forever, if he could.

Unfortunately, it seems that destiny is taking him away from that, and is probably going to force him to become a Messenger to try and get his world to take some of the humility that he thinks that they should learn from humanity.

He's mingling with the crowd, careful to make himself seem standoffish enough to stop anyone he doesn't really know from entering a conversation with him whilst also appearing comfortable and jolly enough to ensure that alarm bells don't ring amongst his brethren. One group he's careful to stay well away from is the Warriors, aware that today isn't the day to pick a fight with them. Plus, they'd recognise him immediately, as 'their' archangel should.

Uriel's approaching, and Raffe realises that he needs to duck away in order to avoid making eye contact or having to engage in a conversation. Just like the Warriors would know instantly that it was Raffe, Uriel, too, would recognise the power of another archangel. That would be catastrophic for his well-planned battleplan.

But then his world is taken away from him, again, only a matter of days after the first time that it crumbled. Behind Uriel is his set of Daughters of Men, but one of them…

One of them is Penryn Young.

The warring emotions in him make him want to run to her and to run away from her at the same time, to kill everyone around him and to kiss them all and tell them that the girl he loves _lives_. He wants to get out of the building, aware that his psychosis is likely to get him killed.

But he can't do any of it. All he can do is stare at her eyes, willing them desperately to meet his and for his suspicions to be confirmed. He can't move, can't speak, can't breathe, can't do anything but stare at the person he believes to be Penryn Young, back from the dead.

It doesn't make sense but falling in love with a Daughter of Man didn't make sense either, so that's not the concern here.

Finally, what feels like eons later, she looks up and their eyes meet. A jolt of recognition forms yet another new bond between the pair of them, and the never-ending relief fades into a strangely melancholy feeling in his body.

It was far easier to love Penryn Young, Daughter of Man, when he thought she was dead.

Now…now, all she is going to do is get herself killed, and he's going to have to go through it all again.

That, however, doesn't stop him from staring at her so intently, so desperately hoping that she'll approach him, even in this devil's lair, so that he can check that it's real. That she's here. That she's alive.

That, for once, his presence didn't kill the one person he cares for.

Then he realises that Uriel's too close, that he isn't going to be able to get away, when she saves him. Again.

She trips up, deliberately falling into Uriel, giving him time to get away. Time to calm down, to process, to get his game face on and ready to attack Beliel.

To get his wings back.

To become the archangel Raphael again.

But as he steps away and into the darkness, the part of his brain that's locked away questions whether it's even worth it.

* * *

Thanks for reading :)


End file.
